


Will

by CrumblingAsh



Series: Fragile Things [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce's first time in the Tower, Flash Fic, Poor Bruce, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His knees feel weak and he sits on the bed; almost cries as it dips and forms around him in a comfort he didn’t want to remember but does, now. The sheets are expensive, gentle under his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will

* * *

 

He shouldn’t be here.

The bed is soft, the sheets are clean. The room is warm and mellow and large and everything he used to dream of when asleep on the floors of whatever family would host him, whatever abandoned structure he could find with a roof and walls, but doesn’t know if he can handle anymore.

It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. He’ll break this, destroy it, leave it in shambles beneath his feet to bleed rubble and metal on the streets below – knock Stark Tower to the ground and pound it and pound it until there’s nothing left of its greatness but an empty carcass that can only be identified through dental records.

Tony was in his doorway, but now he’s gone – closed the door like he doesn’t need to keep an eye on Bruce, make sure he doesn’t ruin something. Left with mutterings of food and clothes like this is a permanent thing and not a temporary fix for both of them.

Tony’s too damn trusting for a man that doesn’t trust at all.

His knees feel weak and he sits on the bed; almost cries as it dips and forms around him in a comfort he didn’t want to remember but does, now. The sheets are expensive, gentle under his skin.

He should leave. Get up, grab his bag, and walk out the door right now. The other man had said he could – “leave whenever you need to, Banner, I’m not holding you here” – and tempting fate has never gained Bruce a damned thing in life that was any good.

He falls back against the pillows without realizing it, mind crying out with relief at the cradle of something softer than stone beneath his head – the absence of the moans of the sick and the dying.

He’s so damn tired.


End file.
